The Years They Just Rolled By
by AutumnNight12
Summary: [pre Rent] During his conversation with Benny, Mark remembers how he met all of his friends. My first fic. If you like it let me know and I'll post more chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my first fanfic ever. I'm planning on following all of the characters from two years before to the beginning of Rent.**

**Let me know if you like it. Let me know if you hate it. Let me know if you want me to post more.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Rent (that's why Roger and I are not dating). Thank you Jonathon Larson!**

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_You, me, Collins, and Maureen_

Mark participated in the rest of the conversation, but his heart wasn't in it. He hated talking to this new Benny—Benny the asshole, whose words only reminded him of before.

Before—just two years ago. He remembered that time as if it had happened decades before, in some lost era.

Two years ago, Collins had just finished his first semester as a teaching assistant at Columbia. Mark and Collins, the sophomore and the grad student, had found in each other kindred souls at Brown, and when Collins finished his dissertation and took a job in New York, Mark saw no reason not to follow him. Screw his parents, screw his over-achieving older sister—he was finally doing what he wanted.

And, coincidence of all coincidences, who did Mark run into on his first day wandering around Alphabet City but Benny, an acquaintance from high school, who was—dum dum dum—looking for new roommates to share his loft apartment.

Mark and Collins had moved right in, and for that whole first year everything had been an adventure. Mark found an ancient Kodak camera, set up a darkroom in the bathroom of the loft (much to Benny's displeasure), and started right in trying to film the screenplays he'd spent all his time in college writing.

During the day, Benny was always off doing something—taking classes on computer and video game design, drawing up business plans, meeting with the hoi poloi. His dream was to create a digital studio where people could realize their own dreams, if only virtually, and he was stopping at nothing to achieve it.

And Collins taught way uptown, leaving the loft before Mark had even woken up in the morning and getting back well after night had fallen.

Which left Mark alone all day. At first he loved it. His parents, out of guilt, or as a form of bribery, or something, were still supporting him, perhaps hoping he'd work this out of his system in a year and then return to school. He had all the time in the world to do whatever he wanted.

He loved wandering around the city, camera in hand, soaking it all in without having to talk to anyone. He'd despised Brown because it was too big to create a true community, but too small to let him be anonymous in peace. Here, he found, no one bothered him if he didn't bother them first.

Soon enough, however, days of perfecting his screenplays and filming and developing background scenes grew boring. Mark began putting fliers up, inviting aspiring actors to audition for his movie. He started hanging around the local performance space during the day, trying to screw up the courage to talk to some of the dramaphiles who hung out there. The days grew more and more frustrating, and more and more isolating.

The nights, though. The nights were perfect.

Collins did all of his grading and writing and editing at school, and Benny was always ready to burn off steam when he got home. So Mark made it his job to have dinner ready and waiting for them when they got in. They'd sit around, eating, discussing their days and planning the night ahead.

Every night there was a new activity—a new club, a new bar, a new protest or performance. Mark had gone from his small suburban town to boring Rhode Island to this, and he couldn't get enough.

Granted, he always sat on the sidelines, filming or nursing a drink or talking to (and smoking up with) Collins—Benny tended to disappear once they arrived places—but what looked like boredom to some was pure bliss to him.

Going out at night was a chance to escape his life, to escape himself.

Still, the days were boring.

And then one night, at the end of the semester—Collins' first as a teacher, Mark's first as a drop-out—Benny came back in an unusual mood. Most days, it took an hour of food and half a bottle of wine to coax him out of his class- or work-induced bad moods.

Today, however, he burst into the room. Collins and Mark were sitting at the kitchen table, eating mac and cheese and smoking a joint. Benny ran in, out of breath, waving a flier and shouting excitedly. "The Well Hungarians are back! I didn't even know they were still together, but they're back!" He grabbed Mark's arms and swung him around the room, then dropped him abruptly. "What's for dinner? Man, I'm starving—let's eat, let's eat. The concert's at 8."

Benny grabbed a plate and fork and ate standing up—well, if bouncing from foot to foot like a small child can be called standing.

"Hold up, man," said Collins, passing to Mark. "What's all the commotion about?"

"You mean I've never told you about my favorite band? My ex-roommates? The reason there was room in the loft for you two?"

They eventually got the story out of the way-too-excited Benny. His good friend John had been the drummer for this band, The Well Hungarians, for a few years. A year ago they had acquired a new front man and had been scouted by some labels. They had cut an EP with a small indie label and, six months ago, left for a country-wide tour.

And now Benny wouldn't shut up.

"Fine, man, fine. Just, whoa, just slow down." Collins let out a low chuckle. "You're kind of freaking me out, man."

Benny grinned. "Sorry guys—it's just John and the guys were my best friends here till they left. And running into John like that in the street—amazing!"

They finished eating, and Benny bounced to the bathroom to take a shower.

Mark and Collins went to the sink to do the dishes in peace. "What is this all about, do you think?" Mark asked as he dried the last dish.

Collins shrugged. "Who knows, man. Let's just hope it all goes well. I don't wanna deal with pissed off Benny."

As if on cue, Benny burst out of his room, grabbed their arms, and rushed them out of the apartment and down to the Bowery.

CBGB was crowded and smoky. Mark was embarrassed by the small thrill he felt when he saw that his name, thanks to Benny, was on the list of VIPs. As soon as they got in, he jerked away from Benny, who rushed towards the stage and was immediately embraced by the guys in the band. Mark found a stool in a corner and set up his camera.

The band was electric. Mark filmed Collins for a while, swaying and dancing by himself in the green light, but he was soon captivated by the four guys on the stage. John was in the back, eyes closed, pounding on the drums like his life depended on it. The bassist and guitarist looked like twins, with long brown curls swinging frantically in time to the music. The green and blue lights danced around the stage, lighting on one musician for a few moments before bouncing to the next.

The heavy bass rocked the floor at his feet, and Mark could feel his camera's sympathetic vibrations as he tried to hold it steady, zooming in on the lead guitarist. _This must be the new front man_, he thought, as he took in the man's spiky blond hair, his face twisted with feeling, his hands and guitar bathed in a pale orange light.

And then he looked straight at the camera—Mark was sure—and winked.

Mark felt a thud and fell off of his stool.

"Marky!" squealed the tall brunette who had just ambushed him. "In the corner, as usual." She turned to her friends, three girls, all dressed in matching leather pants just like hers. "This is that filmmaker I was telling you about, girls. He is putting me in his movie!" She squealed again.

"Oh, hey, Maureen." Mark tried to sound casual as he righted the stool and sat back down. She'd shown up for an audition a week ago, and he hadn't been able to shake her since he'd given her the part of "the mother" in his new movie.

He didn't think he could've cast anyone who looked less like a mother. The strap of her skin-tight tank top was hanging off of her shoulder, and he could not figure out how she had poured herself into those leather pants, let alone how she was balancing in her stilettos.

And now she would not go away. "Cmon Mark." She stood in front of him, between his camera and the stage. "Quit filming, it's so boring. Let's dance!" He shook his head violently as she grabbed his camera away from him. "Ellie will watch your camera—wontcha, hon?" She turned to her friend.

Mark grabbed the camera back from Maureen as she moved to toss it to Ellie. "Fine, I'll dance with you, but the camera stays with me." He shoved it in its case and slung it around his shoulder as Maureen dragged him onto the floor.

Was it really only two years ago that Maureen had danced her way into his life?

They hadn't danced for long. Mark had quickly found himself in a new corner with Maureen pressed up against him, her tongue exploring his mouth. Mark closed his eyes, giving in to the pounding music and the flashing lights and the insistent tongue.

Some time later—Mark hadn't really been paying attention—he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Hey hey, Mark. Got yourself a little…" Collins nudged him playfully. "Good job, man! But the band stopped playing."

Mark opened his eyes with a start. Maureen grinned. "Guess it's time for me to go, honey. See you on Monday for filming!" She pecked him on the cheek and ran off to find her friends as Mark took a deep breath and looked around.

Collins chuckled. "Didn't notice the music stopping _or_ the house lights going on? It must be love." He grabbed Mark's arms and twirled him around. "Now let's go find Benny, make sure he hasn't gotten into any trouble."

Mark grinned. "I… I think I'm gonna go get a drink at the bar or something, before it closes. I can see Benny, anyway—he looks like he's having fun." Benny was perched on the stage, gesticulating wildly, his three old friends clustered around him.

"Suit yourself." Collins shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered over to the stage.


	2. Bully Magnet

Here's chapter 2. Hope you like it- let me know. Still don't own any of the characters.

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Mark had just sat down and ordered his beer when a wiry man approached the bar. "Hey kid," he said. Mark smiled faintly. The man seemed to take this as an invitation. He perched on the stool next to Mark and leaned in, so close that Mark could see the gold caps on his molars. "What's with the camera?" he hissed, spit flying in Mark's face.

"You some sort of undercover reporter? Think you can come in here and make a buck off of busting us or something?" He leaned back and slammed the bar with a meaty fist.  
"God, I hate guys like you."

Mark shrugged, paid the bartender, and got up quickly.

"Don't walk away from me, fairy boy." The man jumped up and stepped towards Mark.

"I was asking you some questions. Now, let me see that camera." As he reached towards the camera, Mark jumped sideways, and—bam—from somewhere behind Mark came a fist which hit the tall guy, full in the face.

"Hey buddy, I told you to stop messing with people here. Now get away."

Gold Caps touched his nose gingerly. "Dammit, you made my nose bleed. If I wanted to, I could cause you so much—"

The new guy sighed. "Can it, Frank. Just scram." With a last, somewhat less-than-threatening glare at Mark, Gold Caps turned and sauntered off.

"Wow…wow," said Mark, turning towards his rescuer. "Thanks. I…" Mark trailed off, blushing, when he realized that he was talking to the singer from the band. _What is the matter with me? It's not like he's famous…_

"No problem, kid. That's Frank, he's an idiot. He hassles anyone if he thinks he can get away with it." He ordered a Stoli, straight, and turned back to Mark, shaking his hand out. "Still, punching him kind of hurt. So…saw you making out with that hot chick in the corner. What's the matter, our songs not interesting enough?"

Mark laughed nervously. "No, um…no. That's Maureen. She's…kind of aggressive. I'm, I'm, I'm Mark." He shoved out his hand.

"Roger." Roger growled as he took Mark's hand. "Aggressive, that's how I like em." Mark laughed again.

Roger's drink came up, and he grabbed it and paid. "Wanna come hang out with me and the boys?" he asked. "We are so ready to be back in the city—you have no idea how boring the rest of the country is. Although… groupie chicks are pretty hot no matter where you are."

Mark raised his eyebrows, then quickly tried to rearrange his features to look cool and nonjudgmental. And failed utterly, if Roger's grin was any indication. _Quick, _he thought, _say something cool_. "Yeah, I love groupies."

Roger's face was a study of self-control for only a second before burst out laughing. "Jeez, buddy, how old are you?" Mark's face fell, and he turned away. Roger grabbed his shoulder. "Whoa, Mark, I'm just kidding, buddy. Come on, come meet the band, maybe we can find you a groupie too. Though by the looks of that Maureen chick you don't seem to need any help in that department."

Mark turned. "Sorry, I—" he smiled, "actually, I live with Benny Coffin. He said he used to live with you guys?"

"Really?" Roger cocked his head. The harsh houselights glinted off the diamond in his ear. "I didn't live with them, but that's cool. Benny's a nice guy. How do you know him?"

They made small talk as they started walking towards the stage. "Actually," said Mark, "We, uh, went to high school together. And this is Collins."

Collins grabbed Mark's beer and gulped. "Hey, thought you'd never get over here.

Benny is boring me to tears with his damn reminiscing."

Roger laughed. "Yeah, Benny and the boys were tight before, when the band SUCKED."

John, Donny, and Rick turned. "Hey!" John said. "You didn't think we sucked so much when you were piggy-backing on our already magnificent set."

"No, I did." Roger said, reaching out to ruffle John's hair. "I just didn't tell you.

Thought it might hurt the bonding process. But with my guidance and wisdom, look what we've become!" Roger jumped up on stage and started beating on the amplifier as if it was a bongo set. "The Well Hungarians," he intoned, "the most important, earth-shaking, era-defining band" bang "in" bang "the world! Beady bommmm."

Rick sighed. "Right, right. Get down before you break something. Anyway, I'm beat. Still got our old beds waiting for us, Benny?"

Collins chuckled. "I think Mark and I might be in those."

Mark jumped in. "But you guys are welcome, of course. I mean, not in our beds? To crash in the loft, or, um, whatever, I mean…" Mark trailed off as, for the second time that night, Roger—and everyone else—lost the struggle with composure and cracked up.

That night, the Well Hungarians crashed at the loft.


	3. Presents

So, here's chapter three. Hope you like it. Criticism welcomed. :)

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The next week was a blur for Mark. On Monday he staked out his claim in a corner of the performance space, and he finally started filming his movie. Every night after filming Maureen would drag him somewhere new—drinks, dancing, dinner. By the end of that week, the Well Hungarians had found their own apartment and moved out, and Maureen had moved in, quickly claiming her place in Mark's bed.

Christmas had been crazy. In the two weeks since the show, the usual gang of Mark, Collins, and Benny had somehow quadrupled in size, and Mark almost missed his former boredom.

Maureen insisted on throwing a party in the performance space, featuring… "Me!"

Maureen squealed again. "Oh Mark, you know I can do it. I'm going to do that monologue you wrote, about holidays and family and love. And maybe," she turned to Roger, who was sprawled on the couch in the loft, his favorite place when his own apartment got too hectic, plucking at his Fender, "maybe the Well Hungarians could play a set?"

Roger rolled his eyes. "Would we be your back-up band, then?

"No no no no, honey!" She draped herself over the back of the couch. "It's just, if we have the space for the night, and you're all going to be there anyway, and… pleeeeeeease?"

"Fine, fine, fine. Just stop whining. God, I come over here for quiet, not to be nagged."

Roger put down his guitar and pounced, throwing Maureen onto the couch as she squealed.

"Hey!" Mark threw a pillow. "Hands off my girlfriend!"

"Oh sorry buddy, did you want some too?" Roger leapt up and grabbed Mark, throwing him on top of Maureen.

"Hey!" Maureen yelled, struggling to get up as Mark pinned her to the couch. Roger grinned, throwing pillows as Mark kissed Maureen.

"Ew ew EW. Get a room! You guys are groooooss!" Roger shouted as he threw more pillows.

The door to Collins' and Benny's room swung open and Collins came out, clutching a blanket. "Hey guys, could you maybe be a little quieter? I'm not feeling too well."

"Oh, oh yeah. Sorry, Collins," Mark said, sitting up. Collins shuffled over to grab his AZT as they sat in silence.

"Hey, didn't mean to kill the mood. Don't worry about it. I'm going back to bed—can't wait for the partay tonight!"

After Collins had settled back into his room, Roger shivered. "I know this is gonna sound horrible," he dropped his voice, "but I can't even imagine living with HIV like that. If I were him, I'd track down whoever gave it to me and kill him. And then I'd probably kill myself." Mark and Maureen looked at him stonily. "Whoa, whoa, I'm not saying I don't love the guy—I just know I could never be as strong as him." Roger frowned and swung his legs to the floor. "And with that lovely reaction, I'm off. Be good, kids."

Roger grabbed his guitar and turned as Maureen called frantically. "Wait, wait. Are you coming tonight? Are you still gonna play?"

Roger grinned. "Of course, darling. See you two at 8 for the preparty."

Mark and Maureen…occupied themselves for a few hours, then she left to get ready. "My outfit's at my girlfriends' apartment. Besides, I don't want to spoil the surprise! Now don't forget," she said as she left, "I made a shopping list for the preparty." Mark sighed. "I took care of the party party" she squealed, "the least you can do is take care of the preparty for _your_ friends!"

Mark sighed again as he watched his girlfriend leave. "If you weren't so hot…" he muttered as he picked up the shopping list and left.

_Well_, Mark reflected from his spot on the couch, _she is hot._ By 9, the gang had almost all arrived. Collins had emerged from his room, looking much brighter. Benny had brought a case of champagne, the Hungarians three handles of vodka, and Maureen—well,

Maureen had brought a ripped mini-skirt, thigh-high leather boots, a bra, and not much else. Mark presumed there had to be a coat somewhere.

Despite her outfit and his tipsiness, however, Maureen was getting on Mark's nerves. Perched in front of him on the table, she would not stop whining. "Marky, we have to go! I organized this—all my friends'll be there, wondering where I am. And I am soooooo nervous. I've already thrown up twice. Are you trying to make me throw up again? Come on, get your friends together! Roger will come if he comes. Are you implying that he is more important than me? The nerve!"

As Maureen rambled, Mark tried to figure out how his simple question—"Should we wait for Roger?"—had triggered this, if only so he could avoid it at all costs in the future.

And then, thank God, Roger burst in, face flushed, guitar slung behind him. Maureen squealed. "Finally! Now," she stood up on the table, "EVERYBODY WE ARE LEAVING NOW!"

The laughing group fell into a startled silence and people scrambled for their coats. Mark grabbed his camera, eyes widened. He made a silent vow to avoid ever having that screech directed solely at him.

They filed out behind Maureen, whispering. Mark and Roger fell to the back of the group. "Oh my god, Roger. Where the hell were you? Maureen was so freaking annoying."

Roger smiled and ducked his head. "Sorry, sorry… I… oh man, this is dumb. I was gonna be on time…" he grinned and thrust out a wad of newspaper. "And then I saw this, and I thought of how you're always so goddamned cold, and it is Christmas and all… I mean I know you're Jewish, I just…" Mark had stopped walking. "Mark, come on, you can't open a present and walk at the same time?"

Mark ran to catch up, trying to talk himself down from the blush he felt rising on his cheeks. As he ripped open the present, he said quietly, "Wow, wow, Roger. I feel so stupid, I didn't get you anything." The blue and white scarf tumbled out of the paper. Mark barely caught it before it hit the ground.

"Hey man, I know, you're Jewish! No problem. Blue and white are Hanukkah colors, right?" Roger's hopeful grin was infectious, and Mark found himself grinning right back at him as he wound the scarf around his neck. "Come _on,_" Roger said, "you can't wind and walk?" He tugged at Mark's arm. "So anyway, once I got it, I had to go back to my apartment to wrap it. But then I didn't have paper, so I had to find something to put it in." Roger continued to jabber on as they speed walked to catch up to the others. Mark felt the warmth from the scarf travel all the way from his neck to his toes.

Two years ago. Mark sighed. Roger before was something special. Before April, before drugs, before HIV, when he'd been living out his dream and had wanted to share his happiness with anyone who crossed his path.


End file.
